A long fever, this afternoon. Sheet sun,
eyelid tremor, far roofs rippled as dunes,
pools hung amid rock and its likenesses,
horizons in your mind not fully closed.
Hours turn you over in shallows – the glass rim
between kelp scrapyards and capes,
mountainous rungs down a fraying ladder –
and the heat presses on, pushes time aside.
You are somewhere past the awning in the sky,
witnessing where everything is heading –
formations slide apart into the surf,
clouds roaring headway far inland – seeing
memories come undone, fish veins at gutting.